


Freefall

by sciencefictioness



Series: Thrice Shy [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Camboy Genji, Camboy Jesse, M/M, Mild Angst, Musician Lúcio, camboy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 08:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19353574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: Lúcio covers his face with his palm, closes his eyes.  Inhales deep, and lets it out, slow and shaky.They don’t want him missing doses of his meds.  They don’t want him missing meals. They don’t like it when he runs himself ragged between shows, or keeps working when he’s sickor tired.  They don’t like it that he’s across the country, across the ocean, across the world.It feels, more than anything, like they should be waiting on him when he comes home.  Like they belong in his house, sleeping in his bed.  Eating all his food, lazing around on his couch.  Like his closets should be full of their clothes. Lúcio wants Genji’s makeup scattered on his bathroom counter, and Jesse’s boots kicked off in his floor.He doesn’t want to be their client.He just wants to be theirs.





	Freefall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PanPineapplePen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanPineapplePen/gifts).



The few extra days they scheduled for Lúcio between Boston and New York were supposed to be a break; some room to breathe before the last leg of the tour so he could rest up and recharge.  

 

He should’ve known this was coming, in retrospect.

 

Things had been running too smoothly— shows going off without a hitch, great crowds, signings with no security issues or weird, invasive fans.  Everything had been on schedule, no technical difficulties at their venues.  

 

There had been Jesse, and Genji.

 

Jesse’s hands on his hips, Genji’s mouth on his own, both of them looking at Lúcio like he might disappear.

 

Texting him after,  _ thanks for letting us spend some time with you, dollface. _

 

_ Miss you, Lúcio.  _

 

It had been the high point in an otherwise monotonous string of performances, and Lúcio should have known it was all downhill from there.  The signing in Atlanta had been insane, a huge crowd that took hours to get through, and a week later Lúcio is paying for it.

 

He’s been sick on tour before, more than once, but never quite this badly.

 

He knocks back a handful of antibiotics and fever medication with a bottle of water, wincing when he swallows.  His throat hurts, and he’s hoarse when he talks. His hip is sore where they’d given him injections, trying to stave off the worst of his illness, or at least make it easier on him.  He isn’t sure it’s working. If things aren’t better by Friday he’s gonna be absolutely miserable on stage for one of the biggest venues of the whole tour.

 

New York is waiting for his best, and Lúcio doesn’t think he has that in him.

 

If he had to sing they’d be cancelling the show, but he doesn’t, and Lúcio doesn’t know if he’s grateful or bitter over it.  He isn’t sure he can perform again feeling like he had tonight— lightheaded on stage, dizzy enough that he was worried he might pass out.  Everything loud, so many lights. Reinhardt had been an inch away from picking him up and carrying him to the dressing room at the end of the show.

 

When he finally made it back to his hotel he sat on the floor just inside the door with his face in his hands, breathing through the tightness in his chest.

 

He’s exhausted, and he’s sick, and he’s so fucking alone.  Tours do this to Lúcio— wear him down until he’s fragile, emotions waiting just under his skin.  Something he has to keep under wraps, to push through and finish things.

 

Usually when it happens, Lúcio yearns for home.

 

This time he wants Genji, and Jesse.  Wants to be tucked into bed between them, Genji kissing his cheek, Jesse rubbing circles on his back.

 

Murmuring soft words in Lúcio’s ear,  _ it’s alright, darlin’, we got you. _

 

They don’t, not the way he’d like, but he wishes they did.

 

His phone buzzes again as he crawls into bed with his laptop.  Once, twice, and Lúcio picks it up and glances at the messages.  They’re exactly what he expects.

 

Genji tells Lúcio to call when he gets back to the hotel, it doesn’t matter how late,  _ i’ll be up, i wanna hear your voice <3. _   Jesse asks how he’s feeling, if it’s worse now that he’s been on stage for a while,  _ is there anything I can do for you, darlin’? _

 

_ Wish I could make things easier on you. _

 

Lúcio thinks about all the miles between them, and every one of them aches. 

 

He pulls up his video chat app and sends a call through to them.  They don’t answer— don’t have their laptop out, probably, but he isn’t surprised.  He nurses his bottle of water and waits for them to call back, the only light in the room the glow of his computer screen.  The blankets are already pulled up around him, and his alarms are all turned off.

 

Lúcio doesn’t have anything to do tomorrow but sleep, and eat room service, and he damn well intends to take advantage.

 

A few minutes pass before their call comes through.  He answers immediately, but the relief of seeing them both on his screen is immediately tangled up with something else.  Something warmer.

 

Genji is sitting on the couch in one of Lúcio’s tour shirts and nothing else.  It’s bright green with his name plastered across the front, and it must be one Lúcio sent for Jesse, because it’s loose around his chest and long enough to hit Genji high on his thighs.  Lúcio blinks at the screen, staring.

 

It’s blatantly unfair.

 

Genji’s not  _ trying  _ to be sexy— his hair is wild and he’s leaning into Jesse with his legs folded up underneath him, stifling a yawn in his palm.  Jesse’s next to him in some worn out pajama pants, the waistband sitting so low on his hips that it’s criminal. They aren’t making any kind of effort on his behalf right then.  It’s just another night for them, but they still manage to make him forget how to speak.  

 

Either one of them on their own would be enough to have him stumbling over words.  Together, Lúcio doesn’t stand a chance.

 

They’re consistently the best part of his day.  The best part of his night. What he looks forward to after a show, or a long day of traveling.  They’re the first thing he thinks about every morning, and the last thing on his mind as he drifts off to sleep.  

 

They’re gorgeous and they’re so good to him and Lúcio can’t imagine going back to the way things were before he met them.  It’s a little hard to breathe when he thinks about it, and it must show on his face, because the two of them frown at their computer in unison.

 

“What’s wrong?”  Jesse asks. “Show took a lot outta you?  I know you got a few days off coming up, but you still probably shoulda called tonight off, sweetheart.  You look dead tired.”

 

Genji shoots Jesse a  _ look,  _ and then turns back to the screen.  They already know the show went well— he always texts them, after— but Genji is almost as bad as Jesse when it comes to worrying.

 

“You take your medicine yet?”

 

Lúcio covers his face with his palm, closes his eyes.  Inhales deep, and lets it out, slow and shaky.

 

They don’t want him missing doses of his meds.  They don’t want him missing meals. They don’t like it when he runs himself ragged between shows, or keeps working when he’s sick, or tired.

 

They don’t like it that he’s across the country, across the ocean, across the world.

 

It feels, more than anything, like they should be waiting on him when he comes home.  Like they belong in  _ his  _ house, sleeping in  _ his  _ bed.  Eating all his food, lazing around on his couch.  Like his closets should be full of their clothes. Lúcio wants Genji’s makeup scattered on his bathroom counter, and Jesse’s boots kicked off in his floor.

 

He doesn’t want to be their client.

 

He just wants to be  _ theirs. _

 

“God, I’m sorry,” he says, words mumbled into his fingers, voice raspy.  “I don’t think I should be doing this right now.” Lúcio is going to say something stupid, or do something stupid.

 

Like ask Jesse and Genji to come to Brazil when his tour is over and stay with him for a while. 

 

Like ask them to be his; to belong to him the same way they belong to each other.  He’s raw enough to do something rash— vulnerable enough to reach, even if he might be refused.

 

Once he does it, he can’t take it back.

 

“Doing what right now, baby?”  Jesse asks, and Lúcio drops his hand from his face.  His voice doesn’t break when he speaks again, but it’s close.  There’s no way they don’t hear it there, like glass in him ready to shatter.

 

“I think maybe meeting you guys was a mistake.”  It’s not what he means, really, but he’s too tired to be articulate, and he can’t figure out a way to say what he wants without exposing himself even further.  Still, he wishes he’d tried harder.

 

Genji rears back like he’s been slapped, wounded and confused.  Jesse’s got a hand on the back of his neck, a gesture that’s both familiar and immediate.  He opens his mouth like he’s about to respond, but Genji gets there first, all his hurt laid bare in one word.

 

“Why?”  

 

Lúcio swallows, and glances down at his hands, eyes sliding away from the screen.

 

“Cause that’s all I want, now.  It’s all I’ve wanted since I stepped into the elevator after kissing you both goodbye.”

 

Longer than that, Lúcio wants to say, but he’s already agonizingly transparent and he can’t bring himself to make it worse.

 

“Then why didn’t you  _ stay?”   _ Genji asks, incredulous, and Lúcio looks up.  Hesitates. Swallows again. Genji’s brows are furrowed, lips parted and eyes wide.  Jesse isn’t worried; he just looks expectant.  

 

Waiting on Lúcio with endless patience.

 

“I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, or… or take advantage.  You don’t owe me anything, you never have. I didn’t want you to feel pressured to do anything you were uncomfortable with.  I don’t know where I stand with you.”  

 

What Jesse and Genji have together is  _ real,  _ and Lúcio doesn’t want to come into that uninvited, doesn’t want to strain their relationship by lingering where he doesn’t belong.

 

He wants to belong, though.  Wants to fit between them.

 

“You wouldn’t have been taking advantage.  We wanted you there with us,” Genji says, sitting up now, leaned in towards their computer.  His voice is emphatic, raw like every inch of Lúcio.  

 

“Really?” Lúcio asks, and Jesse nods.

 

Something in Lúcio breaks.

 

“I wanted to be there.  I still do. I don’t—” Lúcio sniffs, and rubs the heels of his palms roughly against his eyes for a minute before glancing up again.   _ “Fuck.   _ I don’t want to be your client anymore.  It doesn’t feel like business to me, it hasn’t for a long time.  I know we only met once and things started off… a little unorthodox.  I don’t expect to have what you guys have right away, but I— I’d like the chance to get there.  With you. If you’d let me.”

 

Genji’s jaw shivers.  His eyes shine, and he’s breathing too fast.  

 

“Oh, thank  _ fuck.” _   He covers his face with both hands, then drags them away, face flushed as he smiles.  The huff of laughter he lets out is genuine, if watery. “God, Lúcio, you’re all I think about, all we talk about.  We didn’t want to assume, we thought… thought you’d say something, if you wanted to stay that night. Shit, why couldn’t you have told us this three weeks ago when I would’ve been able to fucking  _ touch you  _ afterwards?”  Jesse’s grinning, face all soft and fond.

 

“Woulda made things a lot easier if we could hug you right now, sweetheart.”

 

Genji wipes at his eyes.  Jesse and Lúcio pretend not to notice.  Lúcio tries to hide his smile— knows how it must look, the ridiculous, disbelieving euphoria there.

 

“I should have asked.  I’m sorry.”

 

”Boston is so far away,” Genji cries, “how long are you there again?  Four days?” He gives Jesse a look, the two of them communicating without words.  Jesse shrugs after a moment, tilting his head to the side.

 

“Bout a four hour flight outta Austin,” he says.  “Could probably catch a red-eye and get there by morning.”  Genji glances at the screen, hopeful, and it takes a minute for Lúcio to piece together their intentions.

 

Genji and Jesse want to fly up to Boston to see him.  They’re in their pajamas. It’s eleven at night in Texas, and they’re not packed.

 

None of that matters, apparently.  Jesse is ready to drive to the airport in the middle of the night, and climb on the first flight to Boston that will have them.

 

Lúcio’s heart twists in his chest, but he shakes his head.  He’s miserable, and exhausted, not to mention by the time they got there, they’d only have a couple of days together.  Lúcio doesn’t want to shove Jesse and Genji into schedule like another date on his tour.

 

He wants to have time.  Wants to be well. Wants to be able to treat them the way they deserve while they feel things out together; all of his focus, all his attention.

 

Not to mention leaving them behind a second time and having to work the last leg of his tour would be brutal.  

 

No, Lúcio needs to white-knuckle his way past these final shows, and do things right.

 

“Don’t get me wrong I would  _ love  _ to see you both again right now, but I feel like garbage, and I don’t want you to come all this way and then have to turn around again in a couple of days.  Not to mention I’m just gonna be sitting around in bed asleep half the time, it- it doesn’t feel like enough. It’s not fair to you guys.”

 

Genji reaches over to take Jesse’s hand without looking, a well-tread gesture that makes Lúcio wish he was close enough to do the same.

 

“When can we see you?”  Genji doesn’t try to hide the undercurrent of desperation in his voice, and Lúcio is grateful.  He needs to hear it there.

 

Needs to know it’s not just him.

 

Lúcio looks at his phone, trying to think through the fog in his head, fever and fatigue making his brain lag.

 

“I’ve got… nine dates left, and then I’m done.  Little less than three weeks. Let me… let me get through these last shows, and then we’ll have plenty of time.”  He still has interviews here and there, but it’s all either local or done remotely, and nothing they won’t be able to work around.

 

He thinks of leaving Jesse and Genji in his bed to go talk with journalists or do a photoshoot, and coming home to find them waiting.  The warmth he feels has nothing to do with his fever.

 

“Your last show is in Detroit, yeah?”  Jesse says, and Lúcio nods.

 

“Yeah I’ll do Detroit and then head home and crash for a few days.  Sleep off the tour hangover.”

 

“And then?” Genji asks, Jesse’s thumb rubbing back and forth over his knuckles.  Lúcio smiles, and tries not to let hope sink its hooks too deep, too soon.

 

“Come to Brazil.  Come stay with me for awhile.”

 

Genji lets out a harsh breath, and bites his bottom lip.

 

“Really?  You’re serious?”  Genji asks, like it’s too good to be true, and Lúcio nods again.

 

“Yeah, man, really.  Please. I want you here.  I’ve wanted you here since before the tour started.”

 

Something in Lúcio has wanted them there, always.

 

“How long we stayin’?  You got things going on back home?”

 

“As long as you like.  Until you get homesick.”  Forever, Lúcio thinks, and doesn’t say.  “There’s nothing I have to do that’s gonna take me anywhere far, and I’m sure you two can entertain yourselves while I’m gone.”

 

Jesse lets go of Genji’s hand to rest his palm on Genji’s knee, settling it where it’s bouncing, fingers petting over the inside of his thigh.  Idle. Soothing.

 

“Careful there, darlin’.  You might never get rid of us.”

 

“Maybe that’s the idea,” Lúcio says, honest enough that it makes his heartbeat stutter up in his throat. 

 

They both just smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things or come yell at me on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/scifictioness?lang=en)


End file.
